


some great reward

by Blake



Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Erebor, M/M, New Relationship Feels, everybody lives no one dies, this is before thorin retires and moves to the shire obvi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Make me think that at the end of the day some great reward will be coming my way.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705147
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	some great reward

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting all these 30 drabbles here because I desperately want the Hobbit movies to be the fandom I've published the most stories for lol. Thanks for bearing with me!

“Thorin, you cannot stay. You must get out of my bed this very instant,” Bilbo declares with all his many fine words that make Thorin smile against the pale skin of his soft shoulder.

“Oh, must I, Master Baggins?” The question comes out with less cheek than Thorin intended. As his hand retraces the steps of his teeth, skimming over the map of red marks he’s left behind on Bilbo’s stomach, Thorin realizes this must be the first time in decades that he’s protested getting out of bed. Sleep hasn’t been a solace to him since his days of deepest despair long ago, and he’s never before loved anything deeply and selfishly enough that it could distract him from wanting to work toward reclaiming his family’s honor, creating a home for his people, and making his life worth something. Never has he lingered in the warmth of his man-made, bartered linens to avoid a cold morning walk on the way to the smithy, or recoiled from the light of day because of the demands that would inevitably be made of him by his family. Not once in his life has he shirked off responsibilities to sate his own desires.

His name is restored and his homeland reclaimed, but his life has never felt more valuable than it does here, in Bilbo’s bed in his visitors’ chambers in Erebor, mere minutes before he’s expected to attend an advisory meeting about trade agreements.

In this place, he feels like the gold pressing close and warm against scales, and nothing like a dragon at all.

“Yes!” Bilbo’s voice breaks as he attempts to shove Thorin’s head away from where it has strayed down to his stomach. Bilbo gasps as Thorin stubbornly licks up the thin line of terribly fine hairs leading to the lower lip of his navel, which gives so beautifully under his teeth. “Yes, you must.”

“Why is that?” Thorin asks, rolling the skin between his teeth.

Bilbo kicks him. Thorin notices he’s careful to avoid the wound which still hasn’t fully healed, which may never fully heal. The nudge is still enough to send Thorin rolling toward the side of the bed. “Because I won’t let you kiss me until you finish all your meetings and inspections and luncheons and such.”

The threat gives Thorin pause. He prefers drinking from Bilbo’s lips to breathing. But he turns where he lies to bring his mouth to the inside of Bilbo’s bent knee. “There is much I can do without kissing your mouth.”

Bilbo groans, or clears his throat, or perhaps something in between. Thorin scrapes his beard against the tender inside of Bilbo’s thigh until he shivers. “I won’t let you—I won’t let you fuck me until you’ve finished all your work.”

Thorin’s entire body turns to stone. It’s not that the denial of Bilbo’s body is any harder to bear than the denial of his lips, but the fact that Bilbo says the words at all that freezes his limbs and turns his head into a blinding blizzard of want. The words are a promise that Thorin _will_ get to fuck Bilbo if he does as he’s told. The words are a promise that Bilbo wants him past all thought of hobbit propriety and dwarfish pride. They’re a promise that Bilbo knows what’s best for him, that he’ll take care of Thorin, above and beyond the way that Thorin has taken care of every member of his family as far back as he can remember.

Thorin’s own promise in return is a submission, and a trust. “As you say.” He carefully draws himself upright and away from the bed. Instead of shame at the fact that he has to be blackmailed into putting in a good day’s work as King, he feels the bliss and safety of Bilbo’s all-absolving love. He feels more warmly dressed by that love than he does by the clothes he drags onto his body in a haste to get his meetings over and done with.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Bilbo tells him, only a note of impatience in his voice as Thorin pulls on his boots. Thorin dares to look up and sees Bilbo’s hand dangling suggestively between his tender thighs, where Thorin longs to throw himself this very moment and bury his face, never to resurface. 

But he can’t do that. He has meetings, inspections, luncheons to get through. He has to earn the privilege first.


End file.
